


unorthodox

by symmetrophobic



Category: GOT7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/symmetrophobic
Summary: In which Jackson swears he could get Yugyeom arrested for outrage of modesty, like he's one to talk.





	unorthodox

**Author's Note:**

> reposting some stuff over from a few years ago! originally a prompt fill for 7fics. gen!fic

If anyone told Jackson, six years ago, that he would spend a majority of his second career being verbally pissed on by someone three years younger than him, he would’ve laughed. That, or believed that they were doubting his calibre, which would’ve culminated in an obligatory full body demonstration of his Wild and Sexy™-ness, highly desirable (which doesn’t explain why Jaebum drags him down into his chair or onto the floor every time he tries, but whatever) nonetheless.

Fate is, unfortunately, cruel.

“Need some help with that?” Yugyeom doesn’t bother with the honorifics this time as he walks into the kitchen, but then again, the last time he’d called Jackson “hyung” off camera was about a year ago, when he lost Jackson’s favourite snapback and had to be polite enough so he could blame it on Bambam. In fact, the only person he actually calls _hyung_ in private now is probably Jaebum, and sometimes Jinyoung, when the latter is being particularly moody or murderous. Not that Jackson cares, of course.

It’s six forty-five in the evening, and Jackson, still sweaty from practice, seethes as Yugyeom reaches, with a long, pale arm, above his head, to lazily pluck the little vacuum flask off the shelf, setting it neatly on Jackson’s head, before strolling off towards the sink, humming with the water bottle in his hands, not before giving Jackson’s butt a customary pat, as though to console him.

“What is with you and your butt obsession,” Jackson gripes, unscrewing the cap of the flask to look in, and grimacing at the dust. “You know, other people would find you weird. And probably report you to the police for outrage of modesty.”

“You have no modesty,” Yugyeom reminds him, not missing a beat, walking to the water jug to refill his water bottle after washing it out.

Jackson stomps grumpily over to the sink to start washing his flask, half his mind on the hot drink Jinyoung taught him how to make last week, after he got fed up with Jackson asking him to help make it all the time. _Was he supposed to add a tablespoon or a teaspoon of honey?_

“Yeah, well,” he says loudly, flask clanking in protest against his harsh movements in the sink. “I have thighs.”

“I don’t mean to shock or unsettle you here,” Yugyeom’s set the bottle down, watching Jackson with some degree of amusement. “But it might surprise you that a majority of the human population do, in fact, have thighs.”

“You know what I mean,” Jackson huffs, edging Yugyeom aside at the kitchen counter to start making his drink. Now he _really_ can’t remember how to make the drink. He fumbles with the packet of herbs Jinyoung leaves behind the milk tin for this drink, sighing at the sight of the dried flowers and other weird things rustling in the plastic.

“Are you using Jinyoung’s energy drink recipe?” Yugyeom prods, taking a sip from his bottle, and Jackson grunts.

“Yeah, what does it look like I’m doing?” He checks his watch and groans- he was supposed to be down at Manager’s van, heading for his radio interview, about five minutes ago.

Jackson struggles with the herbs for about a minute or so, subtly aware that Yugyeom’s standing there, watching him as a child would watch a cartoon character being comically crushed under an anvil, and he’s just about to snap at the boy to _get helpful or get lost_ , when Yugyeom sighs, casually turfing him from his position with a gentle bump using his hips.

“You looked like you were going to hurt yourself there,” the maknae says, in a rather put-on tone, as if Jackson had begged him for help. Which isn’t entirely untrue- Jackson is an arrogant prick, not a stupid one, and he would’ve at least resorted to _asking_ had his attempts been disastrous. “It’s one tablespoon of sugar, and half that of the herbs, and you’re supposed to _strain_ it,” he pops a tea-strainer on top of the flask, before shaking some herbs into it, and pouring hot water from the kettle into the flask. Yugyeom glances at him, before shrugging. “You can go ahead and wash up before the interview, I’ll just leave this on the table with your bag.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, kid,” Jackson says dumbly. He spends a second checking discreetly for some sign of concussive head damage, before sloping away from the kitchen, deciding to just be grateful and overlook this uncharacteristic show of kindness.

On the way to the radio show, though, midway through Noyoung’s spiel on how being late is one sure fire way of making a bad impression, Jackson grudgingly notices that Yugyeom remembered to put in half a tablespoon more of honey and less mint, the way he likes it, and wonders if the boy had been listening, all those times he hollered from the bathroom at Jinyoung to help him make it as such.

It’s a disturbingly comforting thought.

*

Jackson is many things, but he is not a liar.

Out of everyone in Got7, he has to admit that Yugyeom is probably the one he’s the least comfortable with. And this says something about their band’s brotherhood, he’s proud to say, because he and Yugyeom have never been strangers either. It’s just that there’s always been someone else available for him to pester or press his (very valuable, he insists) affection on- he can always rope Mark and Bambam in to participate in what Noyoung disapprovingly calls his _escapades_ , count on Jaebum or Jinyoung to roll their eyes at one of his jokes or shove him when he’s being particularly ostentatious, and even Youngjae’s always made the most fantastic punching bag.

Yugyeom is _decent_ to hang out with, sure- he laughs at Jackson’s jokes and would never shy away from a friendly bro hug or high five, but it’s this feeling the older boy gets when Yugyeom looks him in the eye, with that hint of snide knowing that his eyes possess when they aren’t being overrun with embarrassment or mirth, like he can see straight through Jackson, and he’s laughing at what he sees.

Which should not put Jackson off. After all, he is on the inside everything that he shows outside, isn’t he? He’s got nothing to hide. But with nothing binding him to Yugyeom, he simply drifts from member to member around the periphery of the maknae, like they’re repelling poles of an electromagnet, running on excuses not to talk to each other.

But then there comes a time when Jaebum, being their dear old leader, just has to do something about that.

Jackson and Yugyeom sit on opposite ends of the van, determinedly not talking to each other on the way back from their Weekly Idol shooting- well, Yugyeom doesn’t talk, anyway, and Jackson talks to everyone except Yugyeom, hoping the rest don’t notice.

Naturally then, an accursed mutual best friend catches wind of what’s happening, and decides to be a little shit.

“So, hyung,” Bambam grins widely from his seat beside Youngjae, twisting behind to look at Jackson. “How was the kissing?”

“We didn’t kiss,” Jackson says, affronted. “I have much better taste than _that_.”

“You say that like I would’ve agreed if we hadn’t been on camera,” Yugyeom shoots back, bored, from the front.

Jaebum watches the back and forth banter with a pleased expression, and Jackson shoots a dirty look at him.

“You just _had_ to choose us, didn’t you hyung?” he squints, and Jaebum chortles. “Anyone but Yugyeom here and things would’ve gone a lot better. I might even have been able to get out with my face intact.”

“Yeah, hyung,” Yugyeom chooses that moment to cut in, not turning around, but there’s something else apart from cool derision in his voice, now. “You should’ve chosen someone Jackson would’ve actually _liked_ to do anything with.”

Jackson sees Jinyoung turn around, then, to give him a motherly frown, and shoots back an affronted look at him. _What?_

“Yeah, hey, imagine if it’d been _Jae_ ,” Bambam starts laughing in his seat. “Or _Jinyoung-hyung_ -…”

“Or you,” Jackson mutters, miffed, as he glances at the back of Yugyeom’s head, resolutely stationary.

That shuts Bambam up, and the car slides into an uncomfortable silence, no one quite sure what to say to continue. Even Jaebum looks like he’s regretting his decision, a little, now.

“Hey, you haven’t said what _you_ thought,” Bambam nudges Yugyeom, trying to revive the conversation. “How was getting all up in Jackson’s face?”

Yugyeom doesn’t speak for a moment, before turning slightly, so all Jackson’s able to catch of his side profile are his eyes, narrowed in dismissal, and his jaw, set with defiance.

“For someone who talks so much, hyung, your breath sure does stink,” the maknae says flatly, and Mark and Bambam laugh. “Maybe you should watch what you say.”

“I talk great,” Jackson interjects, bruised. “Better than you, anyway- you’re just upset you’re always getting shown up by a foreigner.”

“Okay, okay,” Jaebum defuses the situation, now looking properly regretful about his decision. “Jackson, Yugyeom’s got a point, you need to watch what you say. And Yugyeom, respect your hyung, just because he’s a foreigner doesn’t mean you can overstep the age line.”

Jackson sees Yugyeom’s jaw twitch, obviously about to make a jab at the _age line_ , and is relieved when he doesn’t say anything. He isn’t quite ready for a full blown argument right now, not when he’s just spent the last few hours talking his head off.

“Okay,” Yugyeom says coolly, and Jackson makes a noise of grudging assent, and out of the corner of his eye, Jackson sees Bambam shift, clearly unsettled by this new behaviour from both his best friends, towards Youngjae, to start chattering quietly about showers or something.

Meanwhile, Jackson tries to ignore the pointed looks that Jinyoung keeps shooting him, and stares out the window instead, trying to quell the growing sensation of what feels an awful lot like guilt at the pit of his stomach.

*

Jackson’s drooling subtly onto his Japanese grammar book when Jinyoung opens his door with a sharp _whoosh_.

“S _hit_ ,” he scrambles into a sitting position, instinctively wiping at the corner of his mouth, and Jinyoung grimaces at the book.

“Gross. You do know we all have to use that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson uses a corner of his blanket to hastily dab at the spot of drool, before pushing it aside. He’d just laid down for a meditative Japanese improvement session this afternoon, he swears, he wasn’t _sleeping_. “What, why are you here, what time is it? How much longer do I have till Inki filming, I have to-…”

“You were supposed to be at the JYP building about,” Jinyoung checks his phone. “Twenty minutes ago.”

Jackson swears loudly, pulling open his closet to grab a decent set of clothes in the mess of black fabric within, jamming a snapback halfway over his head before tornadoing past Jinyoung to the bathroom.

“Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” Jackson snaps irritably, splashing some cold water on his face without bothering to shut the door, before throwing his ratty old white singlet off and pulling the black sweater on. “ _Shit_ , Noyoung’s gonna skin me alive this time.”

“Since when were we responsible for managing your schedule, hyung?” Yugyeom appears in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the doorway, as Youngjae trudges past to collapse on the sofa, both apparently just back from extra dance sessions.

“Don’t give me any of your smartmouth shit now,” Jackson says crossly, exhaling into a cupped hand. _Dammnit, I’ll have to brush too._ “How ‘bout you go and do something useful? I’m busy.”

Jinyoung walks past the bathroom door, giving Jackson another warning look, which does nothing but set him off further. Here he is, doing his best to promote the group with all the shows he goes on, and all the rest of them ever do is lecture him on everything else. Can’t they see he’s already trying his best to _help_?

“Noyoung called thrice, he says he’s on his way to the dorm building,” Yugyeom relays, and Jackson feels his stress levels rise impossibly further. “He sounded pretty angry, you should-…”

“ _Yes,_ yes, I know!” Jackson half-shouts, pointing at Yugyeom with his toothbrush, toothpaste foam flying everywhere. “Look, just because _you_ never get picked to do anything doesn’t mean you can use all the extra time you have to tell me what to do, okay?”

He turns back to the mirror, resolutely continuing to brush his teeth, ignoring the fact that he must’ve looked pretty dumb yelling with all that foam in his mouth, and Yugyeom disappears like smoke from the edge of the doorway.

It’s only when he sees Youngjae’s reflection in the mirror, still horizontal on the couch, but with his head craned oddly to look between Jackson and whom he supposed must be Yugyeom, eyes wide with anxiety, that he realises he probably crossed a line there.

There are several nonverbal agreements they’ve come to a consensus on here. The basic ones state that personal insults to any of their family members are uncool, that any prank causing enough harm to another member to jeopardise their career is out of the question, and finally, that every member’s _career progress_ (as Wonbae hyung calls it, anyway) is a sensitive issue and shouldn’t be poked fun at.

The door to Yugyeom and Bambam’s room shuts with a cold, clean _click_ then, perfectly out of place (because no one closes doors properly here- they’re either slammed in haste or left ajar because no one cares) and Jackson starts to feel a little sick.

He didn’t just poke fun at Yugyeom’s _career progress_ , then, he realises, as he’s hopping up and down on one foot at the door, trying to get his socks on. He probably just flung it onto the tracks of an oncoming freight train.

As if the universe is looking for another way to make him feel worse, then, he notices something on the table as he’s hefting his bag over his shoulder- a small, green vacuum flask on the table edge beside his bag, still warm, and the calming smell of herbs and honey wafting up when he puts it to his nose.

Jinyoung emerges from the kitchen, then, gliding past Jackson towards the bedrooms, and Jackson hesitates.

“Jinyoung-…”

“Better get going first,” Jinyoung says drily, without looking back, opening the door to the room he shares with Yugyeom. “Not all of us can be as _busy_ as you.”

Jackson, needless to say, spends the entire van journey in a terrible mood.

*

Yugyeom is not the type of person to vocalise his anger.

Being the maknae of such a big group for so long, he’s probably long learned that the most ineffective way of conveying your displeasure is through shouting about it. Jaebum or Jackson would be the only ones able to pull that off, but Jinyoung would sulk, and Bambam and Mark would typically let it slide- only Youngjae and Yugyeom would pretend nothing’s wrong.

The only difference between the last two is that Youngjae usually fails.

Jackson’s grown used to seeing the different facets of Yugyeom’s emotions close off, one by one, as the years passed- all part of the idol package that the industry’s forced them into, he supposes. He wouldn’t say he’s _worried_ , of course, because it isn’t a _manly_ thing to worry about the emotional and mental well-being of your bros-…

Except one week after the Inki filming, Jackson still feels like he’s walking on broken glass around Yugyeom.

Sometimes he wishes Yugyeom _would_ just shout about whatever was on his mind, not keep it in and let it boil and burn him the way Jackson wondered if it did. Heck, Jackson can’t even keep his mouth shut if someone takes a potato chip from his packet- how Yugyeom manages to shut up for a _week_ about anyone insulting him like that, he has no idea.

It sets him on edge, how much he actually doesn’t know, but of course, he can’t go around _telling_ anyone about this.

Though, in retrospect, it probably would’ve been the easiest way to deal with it.

*

“Yah,” Jackson carefully guides his eyeballs to the right, unable to do much more, seeing as he’s imprisoned in a stylist’s chair right now, having his hair done.

“Uh, what?” he replies, stifling a cough through a mouthful of BB powder. A makeup artist’s come round now, too, dabbing at his face with an expensive looking powder puff.

Jaebum’s eyes are closed as another stylist does his eyeliner, one putting finishing touches into his hair, but he still manages to hold a decent conversation. It’s unfair. Probably those two extra years of experience, Jackson gripes.

“You need to talk to Yugyeom.”

Jackson wants to sigh, but upon inhaling, snorts some powder, and sneezes violently, jettisoning him off the chair. The hair stylist lets out a cry of despair.

“It’s not my fault,” Jackson grumbles, after apologising profusely to the stylists. “Who told you about that, anyway?”

“I noticed,” Jaebum says simply, and Jackson is wholly impressed for the entirety of about a second. “That and Bambam ratted you guys out.”

“That brat,” Jackson mutters.

“ _That brat_ has a point,” Jaebum’s eyes are still closed, entire body perfectly still. Jackson has no idea how he does it. “You do realise we need all of us to be together for this team to work. And Yugyeom’s second only to Jinyoungie when it comes to holding grudges.”

“How would _you_ know,” Jackson rubs his nose, and the makeup artist almost shrieks right then and there.

“You would too, if you were in training studio six that night last month,” Jaebum says casually, and Jackson scrunches up his nose, having been shunted back into his seat by a noticeably fiercer stylist. He obligingly closes his eyes when the eyeliner’s poked dangerously close to his pupils.

“The one with all the old gym mats and springboards?” he says, eyes still closed. “And I still don’t get what I have to _do_ -…I mean, talking’s out of the question, because damn, getting that kid to talk is like squeezing water out of a rock. I just don’t know how to deal with him, hyung, I’m scared I’ll just piss him off further-…for shit’s sake, why can’t these kids just _say_ what’s on their mind, so we can settle this like men- what do you think, hyung? How’d you deal with him that time?”

A long silence follows, and Jackson’s eyelid twitches, tempted to open- he immediately receives a sharp warning. He remains obediently motionless then.

“Hyung?” he chances again, eyes still closed. “Like I don’t _get_ it, what should I say to make it better? We don’t even get an excuse to talk, and Gyeommie just makes everything more awkward- if he just _talked_ to me for a minute or something, we’d probably be able to iron things out. Hyung, what should I do?”

Jackson’s starting to get uncomfortable from the silence, so when the makeup artist moves away, his eyes fly open, ignoring the thirty second wait period for the eyeliner to dry.

Sitting in Jaebum’s seat, now, looking thoroughly amused, is Bambam.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jackson wails so loudly that a passing staff member pokes his head into the room to check if everything’s alright.

“ _Jackson hyung_ ,” Bambam simpers, crossing his long legs as a stylist comes to help with his makeup (mostly to praise what he’s already been able to do for himself, attention that the younger boy laps up eagerly). “If that’s the way you really feel about Gyeommie, you should just express your true feelings, and that’ll clear up everything!”

“If you tell _anyone_ what I said just now, I’ll string you up,” Jackson threatens, before being wrenched back into a straight position by the hairstylist. “And you don’t think I’ve tried? He just keeps walking out of every conversation I try to have. Why can’t he be more like you,” Jackson bemoans, “though I’ll probably die from noise pollution, then.”

“You’re one to talk about noise pollution,” Bambam inspects his nails, immediately striking an aegyo pose for the hairstylist who’s come to help him, earning a sweet coo and a promise to do his hair well in return. “And this is why I’m the best friend,” he points to himself, looking straight ahead at the mirror, before pointing at Jackson. “And you’re the peasant.”

“Excuse-…” Jackson starts, affronted, head held in a vicelike grip by his own hairstylist.

“You _obviously_ don’t know Gyeommie well enough,” Bambam sighs. “The age line affects him more than he lets on- he wouldn’t talk to _you_ ,” he catches Jackson’s reflection in his mirror with a snide look. Jackson’s about to explode from frustration and curiosity, when Bambam continues smoothly.

“You have to _do_ something.”

“Yeah,” Jackson starts hotly. “So I was asking-…”

“ _Do_ something,” Bambam emphasises. “You ever heard of the love languages, hyung? You can’t talk your way around Yugyeom, he doesn’t buy that shit. Just do something for him, and he’ll listen.”

Jackson’s mouth is half open from his last retort, so when a makeup artist swoops down to fix the foundation on his nose, a majority of the powder goes in.

“So what do I do?” he coughs, wiping some of it off his tongue with a paper towel. “Bam?”

Bambam points meaningfully to the noona currently applying lipstain for him, with a look as though to say _whoops, I would help, really, except I can’t._

Jackson makes a frustrated, repressed noise into his paper towel, and sits in grumpy silence at last, as the makeup is finished.

But then they’re rushed backstage by a harassed Noyoung, and Jackson, predictably, completely forgets the conversation.

*

Until three nights later, of course.

Jackson snorts awake from his (really short, he’s sure) catnap on the couch, emcee cue cards scattered on his lap, and realises, with a glance at the clock, that he’s “catnapped” for about three hours. Damn.

 _At least I’m not late for anything now_ , he stretches, wiping drool away using his sleeve, and smacks his lips. _High time for a snack._

He stumbles into the kitchen, leaving a breadcrumb trail of cue cards from the couch in his wake, checking the clock on the wall as he goes. Eleven-thirty pm- technically, he’s not supposed to be eating anything now, but whatever. He’s a growing man. He has his rights.

But then Jackson stops in the doorway, catching sight of Yugyeom, in a hoodie and those terrible black skinnies he always likes to wear (terrible because Jackson can’t wear those without looking like a hippo, while they look like they were stitched specially to accentuate every inch of Yugyeom’s legs when he wears them), tossing a bottle into a bag.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he says, vaguely aware that his hair resembles a platinum blond bird’s nest on top of his head right now. Yugyeom makes a sound of acknowledgement, and Jackson braves on. “You going out right now?”

“Yeah, company building for a while,” Yugyeom slings the bag over his shoulder.

“Dance with the other trainees?” Jackson asks, as Yugyeom walks out past him to grab the roll of socks he’d placed on the table.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom nods, drawing out a chair to sit down and put them on, and Jackson hesitates.

He knows he looks like a mess right now- in the same shirt he came back in after his solo variety show hosting, plus a pair of greying boxers and striped socks because it was all he could do to take off his shoes and pants before flopping down onto the sofa (the pants are still on the floor), but all that’s at the back of his mind right now.

Jackson has more important things to take care of than his image.

“Wait,” he says pointedly, then, making a decision, and Yugyeom looks up with a slightly amused, mostly confused expression, as Jackson windmills back into the kitchen, grabbing the same lime green flask from its perch on the draining rack, quickly cobbling together several things from the cupboard.

He almost burns himself with hot water about thrice, and the countertop’s a bit of a mess, but by the time Yugyeom walks over, Jackson’s screwing on the cap, vaguely proud of himself.

“Here,” he thrusts the flask out at the maknae, suddenly self-aware. “Hot chocolate, with more milk and less hot water, uh, like how you always make it,” Yugyeom takes the flask, not without a hint of suspicion, and Jackson feels a stab of indignity. “It’s-…uh, it’s cold outside,” he gestures pointedly. “And if you get sick, Jinyoung will, uh, be cranky. It’s for the good of the team.”

“Sure,” Yugyeom opens the flask, as though checking for poison, before he notices something. “No marshmallows?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, suddenly anxious. “I mean, you always say they get in the way of the chocolate, so…”

He trails off, and Yugyeom smiles a little then, undoing the worrisome knot in Jackson’s stomach.

“Wow, thanks hyung.”

“I was,” Jackson flaps an arm back meaninglessly. “Going to make something, anyway, so I thought,” he fumbles with his words, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re going to the company building?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting Momo-noona, Bam and a couple of trainees there,” Yugyeom divulges the information with a slight bit more ease, and Jackson feels oddly proud. “Just to dance for a bit.”

“Yeah, uh, well,” Jackson nods quickly to the window in the kitchen for emphasis. “It’s cold outside, so make sure you’re bundled up. And uh, don’t stay out too late- I-…I know I’m not supposed to lecture you, or whatever, but uh, it’d be great if you both could come back earlier.”

“You’re one to talk, you filmed for Roommate at four in the morning,” Yugyeom chuckles, before he seems to catch himself, and shrugs, nodding towards the door. “I’d probably better get going.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Jackson steps aside, letting him go. A little noise escapes the back of his throat, then, and Yugyeom turns back questioningly. “By the way, uh,” he inhales, steeling himself, from the top of his bird nest hair to the tips of his yellowing striped socks. “I’m-sorry-about-what-I-said-that-night,” he tries to play this off immediately to avoid the potential awkwardness to follow. “I mean, I noticed you were kinda upset, and yeah, I was being a bit of a jerk, but I was tired, and Noyoung always gets up on my case whenever I’m late, and-…”

He trails off, noting Yugyeom watching him, half embarrassed, half amused, and feels the tips of his ears grow hot.

“If you’re not going to-…”

“I’m sorry too, hyung,” Yugyeom says, hefting his bag a little higher, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll stop bothering you so much- you’re just cute when you’re annoyed,” he shrugs, like this is the most normal thing a maknae could say to a band member three years older than him. “Anyway, bye, and thanks for the hot chocolate.”

He leaves, then, door closing softly behind him, like he’s contemplating if there’s something else he should say. Jackson waits one second, two, then lets out a long breath, before doing a small victory whoop.  _That went particularly swell_.

 “By the way,” Yugyeom pops back in, and Jackson immediately snaps to attention, pretending he hadn’t been doing anything embarrassing. “Nice underwear, _hyung_ ,” he gives Jackson a pointed look, before closing the door again, humming as he goes.

Jackson sticks out his tongue at him after he goes, but smiles, anyway.

*

Bambam frowns.

“You know,” he announces loudly, in the direction of where Jackson and Yugyeom are on the couch, deeply immersed in the latest video game Mark’s doting siblings have sent him. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to play too.”

By some means of witchcraft and wizardry, Jackson swears, Yugyeom manages to lazily throw an arm around Bambam’s waist, give his butt a reassuring squeeze, _and_ decimate Jackson’s avatar with a 5-hit combo. It’s ridiculous.

“Yeah, how about like, tomorrow, Bam,” Jackson says distractedly, as they start another game. “I’m two games away from victory.”

“More like five, hyung.”

“Shut up, you.”

Bambam huffs, scandalised at this latest show of neglect, before storming off to Mark to try and wheedle out some attention, grumbling about useless best friends.

Meanwhile Jackson grabs a cheese crisp from the bowl between them, navigating his cursor to the busty Japanese girl in the character selection page, and chews leisurely.

“Best two out of three?”

“I’ve already won four,” Yugyeom reminds him.

“And I won, like, uh, one,” Jackson turns up his nose, trying to gloss over that fact. “Best two of three or nothing.”

Yugyeom shrugs, grinning. “Whatever you say, hyung.”

Jackson threatens to tip over Yugyeom’s cup of chocolate milk, then, and Yugyeom replies drily that he’d have to deal with Jaebum regarding the spoilt video game controllers.

(Yugyeom ends up winning two of the three games, and Jackson swears the maknae just lets him win the last one out of pity, but he’s the one who jams Yugyeom’s head under a cushion when it’s over, anyway, both of them yelling and laughing, so he guesses they both win.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> apps are open for 7fics now! do check out our tumblr/twitter @7fics for more information! :)


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